


I'll See Your Heart, And I'll Raise You Mine

by AngelsOfMercy



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: A Millenia of memories, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Post-Good Omens, The Bentley Ships It (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:07:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24379960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelsOfMercy/pseuds/AngelsOfMercy
Summary: Things had been rather quiet in Soho of late, or at least they were until angels and demons began appearing on Earth. Each side is rather intent on locating something with enough power to restart Armageddon and tip victory to whoever happens to find it first. However neither side bargained on Crowley and Aziraphale getting word of their plans and interfering yet again, determined to be the ones to find the relic first.What the pair don't know is that this weapon is significantly more powerful than either of them could have ever predicted, a fact that'll hold unforeseen consequences for them both...
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. Aziraphale

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic writing for Good Omens. I've had the idea for this story since last year but things in my personal life kept me from writing it for quite some time, but the idea won't be put off any longer. Here's hoping I do the idea justice!

_This is the story of the angel_  
_Who played poker with the devil_  
_In the Garden of Eden_  
_Before it all went pear shaped_  
_Bell X1- I'll See Your Heart And I'll Raise You Mine_

The day began much as it usually did with Aziraphale quietly minding his own business with a cup of strong tea and an exceedingly good book. Today's choice had captured his attention almost immediately, his whole being engrossed in reading the impeccably maintained first edition of Victor Hugo's _Les Miserables_ he'd been lucky enough to recently acquire. Unlike modern texts this book had originally been published in several volumes and as such it had taken the angel quite some time to track down each individual volume in a condition that was satisfactory to his sensibilities. 

Anything less than a pristine first edition of the classics had no place in his private collection, and as such it had taken him many more years than was technically necessary to collect the individual parts of the lengthy historical novel. This was especially the case since Aziraphale had only recently been able to bring himself to collect the book after the events that had transpired the year of the novels publication.

He'd intended to purchase the book at the time of course. Aziraphale had even planned to spend a few days in France after collecting the novel so he could fully appreciate the beautiful sights, the delectable food, and the marvelous company that he'd hoped would be present should Crowley have been amenable to the idea. In truth Aziraphale had been rather excited to get his hands on the book, having already been a fan of the authors work since reading his 1831 publication, _The Hunchback of Notre Dame._ The tome had been a gift at the time and he still considered it to be one of his most precious personal belongings to this day.

Crowley didn't make a habit of giving people gifts, and as such it could have been the most dreadful piece of literature Aziraphale had ever read and he still would've considered it to be priceless. As it was Aziraphale had kept the book in almost pristine condition throughout the years, something that was no mean feat, especially in a time before reliable plumbing. Consequently the novel had remained in the same location upon reading it for almost two-hundred years, safe and secure in his back room. It was the only space on the ground floor that had remained entirely off limits to the curious eyes of humans since the shop first opened in 1800. Aziraphale kept his very best collections there, the intensely valuable items that he'd collected over the years that were just waiting to be rediscovered and read anew. 

But when the time came for Aziraphale to purchase Hugo's new novel the plans he'd eagerly anticipated making had been swept clear from his mind, such was his continued vexation at that time. The entirety of 1862 had instead been spent in turmoil, but then how could it not have been in the face of Crowley's appeal? Aziraphale could still remember their heated conversation in St. James Park like it had happened just yesterday, could remember the indignation that he'd allowed to overtake him in the face of his unease at what such a request might signify.

He'd yielded to Crowley's demands eventually of course, but it had taken Aziraphale one-hundred and five years of that denied request hanging between them before he'd finally decided to grant the demon his wish. Ultimately he'd been unwilling to allow Crowley to risk himself in getting something so easy for Aziraphale to access from another source. What was the point in protecting the demon by denying him if his actions could lead him to even greater harm? After learning what Crowley had ultimately used the water for Aziraphale was glad he'd conceded the point, unwilling to consider what might have transpired had Crowley been unable to acquire holy water, or worse, if he'd unknowingly concocted his trap with unblessed water instead. _The consequences don't bear thinking about,_ Aziraphale realised with a slight shudder.

Feeling a deep bout of melancholy at the uncomfortable memories, Aziraphale was about to close the page on the sixth volume of _Les Miserables_ for the morning when a quote seemed to leap out to him most unexpectedly. His hand paused mid-action as he read the words twice over, almost overcome by how closely the extract seemed to transcribe his current predicament. It almost felt like Victor Hugo had penned the passage as a direct message to Aziraphale, the words connected with him that deeply. Returning to the beginning of the extract the angel found he couldn't help but gently murmur the words to himself upon rereading them.

_Love has no middle term; either it destroys, or it saves. All human destiny is this dilemma. This dilemma, destruction or salvation, no fate proposes more inexorably than love. Love is life, if it is not death. Cradle; coffin, too. The same sentiment says yes and no in the human heart. Of all the things God has made, the human heart is the one that sheds most light, and alas! most night._

_Little did Victor Hugo know that love isn't only a monopoly for humans,_ he found himself thinking, his mood suddenly despondent. Despite no longer having to answer to Heaven or Hell a perceptible tension still thrummed between Aziraphale and Crowley each time they met. Sometimes the feeling was subtle, lying dormant in the background. On other occasions the strange tension was so apparent that it nearly made him wordless in Crowley's presence. 

_But then Crowley's often had that affect on me, hasn't he?_ Aziraphale could freely recognise the fact now, free from his past concerns as he was. At the start of their acquaintance he'd often put his unease around the demon down to fear of them being found fraternising by their respective sides, and later to fear of their little 'arrangement' being discovered. As such, they'd often tried to limit their contact with one another wherever they could for those very reasons. 

Aziraphale remembered how he once would've considered himself lucky to run into the demon three, maybe four times at most in a year. It was a strange remembrance now in the face of how often the pair found themselves in each others company. But then, they were free weren't they? They didn't have to maintain their longtime charade anymore of being ignorant of the others continued machinations on Earth.

Thinking back on their history Aziraphale couldn't quite recognise when he'd first fallen in love with the demon but he _could_ identify the exact moment when his feelings had grown too strong to ignore, even though he'd been unable to admit to them outside of his own mind at the time. He'd had inklings of his feelings before of course, had almost been able to recognise them in 1862 but rather than acknowledge them Aziraphale had forcefully clung to his outrage for decades instead, telling himself that their friendship clearly wasn't real whenever he'd felt his feelings softening towards the demon. He'd worked hard to convince himself that Crowley had obviously always had an ulterior motive in his kindness towards him, deciding that their conversation in the park was merely proof of Crowley's duplicitous nature.

But when he'd saved him from the Nazi's in 1941 Aziraphale's already crumbling delusions regarding Crowley had been shattered completely. How could they not be? Especially in the face of Crowley's demonic miracle. If the demon didn't care about him, felt no fondness towards him whatsoever then he wouldn't have wasted his power on saving something of no importance to himself like the books. The books couldn't benefit Crowley, his actions were clearly committed entirely for Aziraphale's sake. If they hadn't truthfully been friends all along then the thought to save the rare collection of novels wouldn't have occurred to him, surely?

It was in that moment when Crowley passed him the bag back in that almost shy manner that Aziraphale's emotions finally broke free, refusing to be ignored any longer. The peculiar feeling that had been growing inside him for all those years suddenly had a name, and its name was love. He loved Crowley, had been unable to pretend otherwise since that night and neither did he want to... Since that night seventy years of recognition had passed and what measures had Aziraphale taken to act on his feelings?

Nothing.

He'd done nothing. If anything Aziraphale had purposefully pushed Crowley away from him during the lead up to Armageddon, unwilling to give word to the feelings perpetually growing inside him in the face of the war they would soon be conscripted into. In light of his less than angelic behaviour he'd found himself speechless when Crowley suggested they run away together, the idea unexpected but far from unwanted. And yet rather than seize the opportunity he'd instead spurned the offer in a manner that made him wince even now. The shame still churned within him whenever he thought about that memory at the bandstand, the harsh words he'd spoken repeating in his mind as he began reliving the memory... _'Friends? Were not friends! We are an angel, and a demon. We have absolutely nothing in common, I don't even like you!'_

The look on Crowley's face when he'd acknowledged the seriousness of Aziraphale's words haunted him even now despite the easy camaraderie they once again shared. He'd wanted to make it right of course, to apologise, but as of yet he'd been unable to produce the right words that would help put right what he'd done. And of course the longer time went on, the harder apologising became. Just like in 1862 Aziraphale still found himself preferring to retreat from his feelings regarding the demon than to face them outright and risk making himself vulnerable in Crowley's presence. Or worse yet, endanger the millennia of friendship they shared over something as inconsequential as his feelings.

_I'm a coward. I always have been..._

Aziraphale truly couldn't think of anything worse than having to spend eternity alone. Crowley's friendship was infinitely better than having no association with Crowley at all. The demon was the only one who truly knew him, who accepted Aziraphale exactly as he was without disappointment or disgust. The other angels had always shown some form of disdain for him. Although granted none quite so much as Gabriel or Michael. Crowley was the only one to look at Aziraphale and see him as enough, he couldn't risk doing anything that might destroy what they had, not without an inkling on the demons feelings at any rate.

During the quiet moments during the witching hour Aziraphale occasionally enjoyed imagining a scenario where he overcame his fear and admitted what was truly in his heart for the demon. He'd imagined it transpiring in many ways of course. Sometimes he made long, poetic speeches about the true depths of his feelings. Other times Aziraphale would present a romantic gesture to Crowley much like the favours humans used to gift to their beloved. It he was feeling particularly daring he might even imagine making an overt show of his love by capturing the Crowley's hand gently in his own, looking deep into his golden eyes before silently leaning in for a gentle hiss. During these fantasies rather than spurn him Crowley always accepted his love graciously before making a confession of his own, much to Aziraphale's uttermost surprise and jubilation. 

They were foolish daydreams of course. Something like that would never happen, could never happen no matter how much he wished things to be otherwise. And yet Aziraphale's imagination would not be quenched. Lately he'd even almost found himself leaving hints of his affections, things that he could easily explain away if there was a need for it, but he'd yet to go through with making the suggestions. 

Why just the other day he'd almost invited Crowley to accompany him to an exhibition regarding Love Through The Ages! Extracts from some of the great romantic texts would be there to see along with copious amounts of poetry, and if the rumours were true they also planned to have a never before seen section dedicated entirely to non-fiction love letters. Crowley would hate it of course, but if that wasn't enough of a hint of his feelings to be getting on with then what else would be? But ultimately the offer had gone unmade, Aziraphale too afraid of the rejection he'd be sure to receive to even attempt broaching it.

In his more melancholy moments Aziraphale would berate himself for such fruitless sentiments, listing all the ways in which his feelings would surely an outrage should they be discovered. When it came down to it could demons even love another being? He certainly couldn't imagine the likes of Hastur or any other demon he'd come across being capable of producing such tender feelings for anything, let alone for an angel. _But Crowley isn't like the other demons,_ his mind vehemently reminded him. _And if he doesn't care then why have all those flowers suddenly begun appearing in the shop?_

Looking towards his gramophone, Aziraphale cast his mind back to the first strange gift he'd received. He'd first noticed the flower in his shop at exactly 11:33am on a Sunday afternoon, and to say he was perplexed by its appearance was an understatement. He was walking past the gramophone when he noticed it peeping out from the sound horn, its brilliant red petals capturing his attention entirely.

Gently pulling the flower free from its new home Aziraphale found himself taking a small inhale of the freshly cut bloom, surprise flooding him as he recognised several spicy notes that were interwoven with the floral ones. Looking down at the cutting he was even more astonished to see how perfect a specimen the cutting was, the flower was simply flawless. It took some time but Aziraphale eventually remembered its name, keeping the red carnation by his bedside until the first petal began to wilt. It now resided between two sheets of parchment paper that he'd placed inside the middle pages of his spare copy of _The Woodlanders._ The book had remained on his bedside ever since.

Aziraphale knew the sensible thing would have been to recycle the bloom but he foolishly found himself unable to part with it. So he'd kept it, just like he was want to keep other things throughout his long life that held meaning to him. After pressing the flower he honestly hadn't had time to give the strange gift much thought, that was, not until a fortnight later when another flower appeared to replace the first following Crowley's departure from the shop.

Since then every time Crowley visited the establishment a flower could reliably be found somewhere Aziraphale was likely to pass. In truth he wasn't sure what to think, but like the one before it he proceeded to take the flower to his room and press it the moment the first petal fell. Since then he'd been gifted a pink camellia and a gardenia. He'd originally tried to broach the topic with Crowley when the camelia first appeared but the demon seemed reticent to talk, unwilling to acknowledge the appearance of the strange gifts, and as such Aziraphale didn't like to push him, unwilling to cause the demon anymore discomfort than was necessary.

And besides, Aziraphale _liked_ receiving the flowers. He didn't want Crowley to feel the gifts were unwelcome, and so, he kept his silence on the matter from that moment on. But he still couldn't stop himself debating what this sudden display of generosity actually meant?

Aziraphale's thoughts didn't get much farther than that for he suddenly found his quiet morning in the shop interrupted by the object of his affections. He nearly jumped as Crowley stormed into the shop, stopping just shy of slamming the wooden door behind him. Aziraphale opened his mouth ready to chastise the demon for such discourteous behaviour when he caught sight of the expression on his face. Instead he found himself suddenly without words, for the expression on Crowley's face was one Aziraphale hadn't seen for some time, and one he'd secretly hoped to never see the demon sporting again. It caused him to be instantly on edge, his angelic senses stretching out and automatically ensuring there was nobody following the demon.

Meanwhile Crowley turned back to the entrance, quickly flipping the sign on Aziraphale's shop door from _'open'_ to _'closed'_ before pulling the blind down completely over the windows. Crowley then proceeded to stand there rigidly for several moments, his back the only part of him the angel could see. It almost seemed like the demon was keeping guard over them, perhaps ensuring that there was no danger of any imminent, unwanted company making an appearance.

And then in small, almost imperceptible increments the tension in Crowley's shoulders seemed to ease before the demon slowly turned back towards him, his dark sunglasses already partially removed. Crowley ran a rough hand across his face, covering his expression from Aziraphale's view before he seemed to practically slide into the spare chair Aziraphale had purchased for the shop. The chair he'd recently begun referring to as Crowley's chair in his thoughts.

"We've got a problem, angel," Crowley said without preamble, his fists clenched tightly on the chair arms. He quickly elaborated, "It would seem that Hell haven't been quite as idle as we'd hoped since Armageddon was cancelled. They've got a new plan in the works, one that could set the whole thing back in motion within days, or weeks if we're lucky."

"How on earth is that possible?" Aziraphale wondered, the shock in his tone easily recognisable. He found himself sitting up painfully straight, his entire attention focused on the demon sitting hunched forward across from him.

"How much do you know about the holy grail?" Crowley asked mutely instead as he leaned in closer towards the angel. His golden eyes were entirely serious, a fact that deeply unnerved Aziraphale given their recently lighthearted, easygoing interactions.

But as the question registered with Aziraphale he found himself pulled up short, his thoughts suddenly coming to a complete halt. No doubt his surprise at Crowley's inquiry was written plain on his face. Giving the question significant consideration he began casting his mind back, recalling all he could regarding the mythical object. It wasn't long however before the angel realised just how painfully lacking his knowledge was on this particular subject.

"Its nothing more than a fanciful idea, a myth... isn't it?" He wondered, a hint of doubt creeping into his words at the question. While some thought the grail to be the blood of Jesus they both knew that no such item had survived to modern day, and even if it did it wouldn't be powerful enough to counteract Armageddon.

Crowley groaned loudly then before snapping, "You know better than that angel, think back. Back to the beginning, in the garden." His unique eyes held an intense focus trained entirely on Aziraphale's face as they were. The look caused him no small measure of disquiet, unused to it as he was. He'd rarely seen the demon behave in this way, not in all the thousands of years he'd known him. If Aziraphale wasn't taking this conversation seriously enough before, he certainly was now.

Casting his mind back Aziraphale found himself recounting the tale he'd long heard spoken of after the gardens destruction. "God created a garden in Eden for his creatures, mankind. Within the garden were two trees. The Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge of good and evil. I take it that's what you're referring to?" He wondered, perplexed. _What could all that ancient history possibly have to do with anything now?_

"Yes!" Crowley exclaimed quickly, almost rising from his seat in his fervor. "The trees were both burnt but a part of the Tree of Knowledge survived, imbued with water from the first rainfall. That's what the holy grail is made from. It's practically brimming with God's power. If anything could be weaponised it would be that."

"So you're telling me the grail comes from a surviving part of the Tree of Knowledge?" Aziraphale found himself verifying, a hint of doubt still in his voice. _How have I never heard about this before?_

"After a fashion," Crowley replied easily, his elbows resting on his knees as he observed Aziraphale's reactions. "I believe it was made into something, although I couldn't tell you what exactly. Last I heard the Templar's had come across the item and hidden it away somewhere. All I know now is that Hell want it and they'll do anything to get their damned hands on it."

"How on earth could you know all that about the grail, Crowley? I've been on earth just as long as you and I'd always thought it be a myth," Aziraphale wondered in astonishment, a hint of his long held wariness trying to break free.

Looking down at his glasses and shrugging slightly, Crowley answered without intonation, "That's a question better left unanswered, angel."

"Crowley-" Aziraphale began before being cut off. 

"We have more important matters to discuss, Aziraphale. Hell seems intent on finding the grail as soon as possible, almost like there's competition in locating it."

A realisation dawned on Aziraphale, his face blanching while his mouth opened slightly in surprise. _Could it be...?_

  
  
"Hell _and_ Heaven want the grail," he realised sickly, mind focusing on the intense power he'd felt that night. Aziraphale quietly added, speaking more to himself than Crowley, "So that's what all that was about."

"What do you mean? All what was about?" Crowley demanded, voice wary and eyes unreadable.

"Five nights ago I sensed... _something,_ some form of power emanating strongly enough from Heaven to be felt right here in the shop. Sadly I couldn't get much more from the feeling beyond a certain sense of boasting. I believe the humans would refer to it as 'blowing one's own trumpet'? Whatever it was, the next day I began sensed flickers of angelic energy that would appear on Earth before disappearing as soon as it had appeared. They must be searching for the grail, Crowley. It's the only thing that makes sense," Aziraphale declared confidently.

"And you're only telling me about this now _because?_ " Crowley responded in obvious agitation, his body so tightly coiled it almost reminded Aziraphale of the snake hiding within. He then proceeded to look down upon the glasses in his lap before replacing them on his face slowly. He was sad to see them return, little realising just how much more preferable it was to talk to the demon without them. After all, they did have the bad habit of making him inexorably harder to read.

Unwilling to be the recipient of Crowley's troubled feelings, Aziraphale found himself replying primly, "I did try ringing you, Crowley. It isn't my fault that you don't check your answer machine regularly."

Looking at him with something akin to surprise Crowley suddenly turned his gaze to the ceiling, his frustration clear to the angels eyes. Knowing Crowley needed to work through whatever feelings he was having Aziraphale merely observed as the demon raised his hand to run it through his hair roughly, almost pulling on it and causing the luscious red locks to stand messily on end. He found he couldn't help but be entirely captivated by the action, a part of him wondering just how soft those strands might feel between his fingers, how Crowley might look at him if he gently tugged on his hair before pulling him in for a deep, luxurious kiss. Before he allowed his mind to wander much further Aziraphale found himself looking away, almost overcome with the feelings of contrition that began flowing through him. It was one thing to imagine these things (and if he was being entirely honest, several entirely more risque things besides) in private but quite another to consider them while the object of his thoughts sat across from him in very clear and palpable distress.

"The way I see it we have two options," Crowley said heavily, slumping back into the chair as he turned his face back towards Aziraphale.

"And what might those options be?" He asked gruffly, still half distracted by the contrasting thoughts fighting for dominance inside him.

"Either we go off to Alpha Centauri together and give Earth up as a lost cause-"

"Crowley!" Aziraphale interjected loudly while his heart began beating rapidly within his vessel. He couldn't allow his thoughts to linger on the idea of them leaving together no matter how appealing it may be to him. 

" _Or,_ " Crowley emphasised strongly before continuing. "We begin searching for the grail ourselves. We've been on earth far longer than any other angel or demon. Longer than any of them combined probably. How hard could it be?" 

"How hard indeed," Aziraphale replied weakly. "Where do you suggest we start?" 

"I was kind of hoping you'd have an idea about that," Crowley admitted in tones Aziraphale would almost have described as apologetic.

\-----------------------

Eventually the pair decided that consulting every history book they could get their hands on for clues would be as good a place to start as any. As it was many of them just so happened to be located in Aziraphale's shop, although some of the more lesser known texts proved difficult to find at first due to the haphazard order the angel insisted on keeping his collection in. Getting stuck in, the pair soon found themselves following a frustrating pattern as time and time again the contents of the book before them would begin to look promising until it eventually lead them to yet another dead end. 

While Aziraphale became more subdued with each passing hour Crowley on the other hand became notably more irritated, often slinking around the shop like a caged animal. Deciding history texts were a futile avenue of research Aziraphale instead found himself looking towards his collection of prophecy books, although this time with significantly more skepticism. Once again, they read through the significant collection with hope that soon began draining away as day passed once more into night without a potential lead for either of them to go on.

He wasn't sure when Crowley took his leave of the shop, too busy scrutinizing the prophecies made by Nostrodamus at the time but Aziraphale could admit that the demons departure had probably been for the best. He knew Crowley intended to pursue several leads of his own, and the more Aziraphale searched fruitlessly among his books the more he prayed that Crowley would have infinitely better luck in his own search.

When he eventually raised his head from the small, barely legible text before him Aziraphale was surprised to see that it was once again morning. The realisation brought him up short as he realised just how long he'd spent searching his books for. After all, when Crowley had taken his leave nightfall had only just begun darkening the sky. Despite the significant hours he'd spent researching Aziraphale was yet to make any progress towards locating the grail, a realisation that filled him with ever increasing dread. 

Rising from his chair stiffly Aziraphale soon found his attention caught by the unexpected item in his shop, its bright colours shining out to him like a beacon in the gloom. Moving towards the flower that Crowley had surely left behind Aziraphale soon found himself picking up the delicate specimen, unaware of the small, gentle smile that spread across his face as he looked down at the bright wallflower. He was just raising the bloom to his nose when like a sign from the Almighty he saw a single, yellowing letter quickly drop down onto his doormat.


	2. Crowley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this chapter. I hope you all enjoy reading it just as much :) If you have time and are so inclined let me know what you think of it in the comments :)
> 
> I don't have a beta at this time so any mistakes you may come across are entirely my own.
> 
> The song playing in Crowley's car is Patti Smith - 'Because the Night.'

It took all of Crowley's tightly maintained control to avoid deliberately terrorising the drunk, slow moving pedestrians getting in his way as he raced back to his flat. It also didn't help that his temper was being raised with every questionable song choice his damned car forced him to endure along the way. He was quite happy to listen to Queen on repeat, he'd also been known to listen to a bit of R.E.M on occasion, but this selection of songs though? Not so much. Crowley could feel his frustration growing with each goading track that the Bentley forced him to suffer through. He'd tried turning the radio off several times already, but alas it was to no avail. As such Crowley found himself almost hissing in anger as the lyrics of _that_ song began reverberating through the car yet again, almost like they were taunting him personally.

_Without you I cannot live, forgive, the yearning burning, I believe it's time, too real to feel, so touch me now, touch me now, touch me now..._

Forced to relive songs from an era that brought Crowley no small degree of embarrassment to remember, (for his fashion choices at the time really were something frightful, after all, who could forget that mustache?) it almost felt as if upon sensing Crowley's intense dislike of anything related to the pop genre that his Bentley couldn't help itself in entirely devoting its time to punishing him with music solely from that selection since it had been resurrected. 

Although this was a first for them both, since rather than find a new song to taunt Crowley with it instead decided it would just replay the current tune again, and again, and again, and again and _again._ As such by the fifth time of listening to the song Crowley couldn't help but almost crack the steering wheel as the words, _love is an angel disguised as lust_ assaulted his ears. Now certainly wasn't the time for those thoughts, and he felt he better make his damned unhappiness well known.

"I'll scrap you yet you glorified trophy, just you see if I don't," Crowley threatened in the sternest voice he could muster but the Bentley wouldn't be swayed, much too convinced of its importance for his menaces to have any true effect on it.

By the time Crowley's flat finally came into view he was practically seething, his mind now entirely preoccupied with the disastrous situation he currently found himself facing. It was clear to him now that one almost world ending event wasn't enough for this century. Clearly Crowley was out of that thing humans liked to call luck, for if circumstances hadn't been worrying enough already they certainly were now after Aziraphale's little admission. It was bad enough knowing Hell was sniffing around for the grail without Heaven getting in on the action too. 

After the postponed apocalypse Crowley found himself contending with several unexpected concerns. Hell would leave him alone for now, but that couldn't last, could it? Likewise he doubted Heaven would leave Aziraphale to his own devices indefinitely. And it begged the question, what would he do with the infinite days ahead now that he didn't have to pretend to be actively working against humanity? He'd always had his orders to follow, although granted he had never been the best at that. Sometimes he'd purposefully worked against them although what Hell didn't know couldn't hurt him, a mantra he'd diligently lived by for several hundred years now. But having no instructions at all left Crowley feeling just a bit adrift of everything. It was a sombre thought, an eternity spent completely alone and friendless. But he wasn't alone, was he? He had Aziraphale. He'd always had Aziraphale in one way or another, ever since that first conversation on the wall of the garden. 

Those potential problems he could handle, he found half of them easy enough to wave away after all. He'd worry about them in the future if it needs be. But this? This hadn't even been in his list of top fifty concerns, so unpredictable a situation as it was. Scowling as he pulled into his usual parking spot Crowley ensured the Bentley was perfectly parked before letting rip to his rage, no longer willing to suppress his growing fury and frustration.

"Fuck!" Crowley exclaimed at the top of his lungs, uncaring of the early, unsociable hour as his hands slammed against the steering wheel over and over again. "Bastards, the whole lot of you!" He only stopped venting his rage when he felt his control slipping, unwilling to risk transforming in the open despite the emptiness of his surroundings. Breathing heavily until he battered his feelings into some semblance of control Crowley couldn't help asking dejectedly, "You just couldn't let me have it, could you? Some time with him without having Heaven, Hell, or the damned Antichrist getting in the way? After all these millennia you still want to punish me."

It would seem that despite all the good he had done, whether knowingly or not, God could still not forgive him for his transgressions against Them. If he was being honest with himself Crowley couldn't remember much from before the fall, his memories still hazy and dreamlike despite the passing of time. Sometimes it felt like a blessing to remain ignorant of the past, other times it was like an unrelenting punishment. Sometimes when the feelings inside got too much for Crowley he'd try reaching out for a memory, _any_ memory to prove his time in Heaven was real but the clarity he so craved remained perpetually out of reach. Despite the numerous times he'd tried to remember all Crowley was ever faced with was darkness. He'd always known he was unforgivable, and if this wasn't proof of his claims he didn't know what was.

But what he couldn't understand was why God would seemingly sanction the halting of Armageddon only to have himself and Aziraphale racing against time to stop it yet again a paltry three months later. Crowley wasn't naive, he'd always known he'd have to fight against Hell in the future but he _had_ hoped he and the angel might get a couple hundred years or so of breathing room to finally enjoy their time together before the issue arose again. If this had happened three-hundred years from now he'd have been long expecting it, but three months later? Not so much.

  
But if Crowley was completely honest with himself he could have another six thousand years spent entirely in Aziraphale's company and that still wouldn't be enough time for him. As it was the majority of their friendship had been spent more apart than together but despite the decades, or sometimes even hundred or so years of absence from one another's company Crowley had never found his devotion to Aziraphale waning. Quite the opposite in fact. It was true what they said, absence did make the heart grow fonder.

Upon exiting the Bentley he made sure to canvass his surroundings, naturally wary of who else could be lurking nearby at this late hour. Lurking was a demons specialty of course, and Crowley knew just how much his popularity had likely plummeted among his own kind. He wouldn't put it past one of the more foolish demons to decide to pay him a visit despite his apparent survival against holy water. The thought didn't worry him overmuch, demons he could handle easily, he'd already been doing that for centuries, but the possibility of something else out there waiting to smite him had Crowley pausing to take extra precautions. It couldn't hurt to be safe at times like these, he only hoped the angel was being just as wary.

He'd already been feeling quite uneasy about Aziraphale's safety upon learning of the new demons stalking about nearby, but learning that several more angels were floating around on the planet had Crowley feeling increasingly restless. All it would take was one curious angel or demon discovering their secret and they'd both be saying _au revoir_ to the world permanently.

As such Crowley knew what they had to do, knew that the only practical solution left open to them would be to find the grail first. The results if either Heaven or Hell got their scheming wings on it was just too horrifying to contemplate, even for Crowley. And yet despite them being in absolute agreement regarding their way forward neither Crowley or Aziraphale had managed to make any progress towards their goal whatsoever. 

In a word Aziraphale would use, Crowley had found the realities of research absolutely _galling._ He'd actually lost count of how long he'd spent in the fusty book shop sometime around the fourteen hour mark, much too preoccupied with skim reading yet another yellowed old book on the off chance it would produce some sort of sign for them to follow or hint as to the grail's physical form. The overall result was that Crowley's back burned from being hunched over awkwardly for so long while his eyes throbbed intermittently from so many hours spent continuously deciphering the scrunched up scrawl of several books. The fact that they managed to somehow be significantly duller than any romantic novel ever published was just an added bonus to an already tense situation. Not that Crowley had actually ever read those types of books of course. 

Eventually Crowley and the angel came to something of an impasse, although a non-verbal one. It was rapidly becoming clear that he felt it was a waste of time to continue searching through hundreds of years old books with words like _'art thou'_ and _'perchance'_ in regular usage, while Aziraphale on the other hand maintained hope that if they read just one more of the fragile old tomes they would eventually yield an important clue in their search. Aziraphale's words whispered in his mind... _We just need to have a little more faith dear fellow, that's all. We'll find our way eventually._

As a result Crowley didn't quite have it in him to squash the angels expectations by revealing that all the mentions of the grail in the books he'd read had been entirely and almost hilariously inaccurate. It kind of reminded him of a movie he'd watched once involving some guy in a fedora hunting down the grail against a bunch of Nazi's. The remembrance had Crowley's mind passing onto other things, and yet he couldn't help racking his brains as he wondered, _what was that movie called again?_ But blessedly the thought was a passing one, overshadowed by much more important concerns. 

If Crowley had been successful in locating the grail back when he'd first begun searching for it they wouldn't be having this problem now. He found himself scowling at the thought, unable to stop himself feeling rankled as he remembered the events that had led to the grail slipping through his fingers. In all these years it still remained the only time he'd come close to acquiring it, back when he'd been in Rome. 

At the time Crowley hadn't been too concerned, thinking he'd have plenty more opportunities to acquire it again in the future. _How wrong I was,_ he couldn't help acknowledging to himself. When Aziraphale had sat upon the wooden stool in the tavern Crowley had found himself automatically on edge despite his best attempts to hide the fact. Naturally he'd assumed the angel to be there for the same reasons as himself, likely drawn to the area by the gentle hum of power emanating from the general vicinity. Even all these millennia later the fact that it had been nothing more than a chance encounter still managed to surprise Crowley, but he knew the angel well enough now didn't he? He hadn't been lying about his reasons for being in Rome, not like Crowley had been, although his excuse was feeble enough that it still surprised him that Aziraphale hadn't challenged him on the spot for telling such a transparent lie.

Ever since that missed opportunity in Rome Crowley would occasionally find himself trying to track down the grail but to no avail. Eventually he'd lost interest in the object, deciding that realistically whatever power might have once resided in the artifact would've surely leeched away by now or been destroyed unknowingly by the humans. It wouldn't be the first time they'd ignorantly destroyed something priceless. And after all, it _had_ been a couple of hundred years since he'd heard or felt any sign of the relic in the world.

He'd been so sure the grail had been destroyed, so infuriatingly confident of it that when he'd learnt what Hell were after he'd found himself almost overcome with shock. The fact that both sides were searching for it had him certain that he'd been wrong before - the grail was out there still, its power still intact. Although where it'd been hidden all this time still remained the biggest mystery for Crowley.

As it was he'd only learnt of Hell's plans by chance, one might almost say by miracle (or a certain someone might at any rate). Crowley had been been feeling quite content, already out causing a bit of mischief before planning to drop in on Aziraphale later that day, a habit he'd been indulging more and more often after stopping Armageddon. He was in that area of Soho anyway, or at least that's how he'd try and rationalise his surprise visit to the angel when he asked what the meaning of Crowley's visit was with that welcoming smile he often freely bestowed upon him these days.

He'd decided to cause an accident on one of London's busiest travel routes during peak travel times, and while nobody was hurt it had set things back quite substantially along that road, causing several buses to be cancelled and a rather lengthy queue of cars to appear needing to head into that part of town. Crowley was quite happily watching the ensuing frustration and bubbling anger emanating from the commuters from his hiding spot in the shadows of the side alley, the sly, partly upturned grin on his face going unnoticed by all who passed him by. He'd planned to start moving towards the bookshop soon once he'd had his fill of the palpable displeasure. Upon thinking of the bookshop he couldn't help gently running his fingers along the stem of the freshly picked wallflower he'd put in his pocket, almost feeling like the flower was goading him over the futility of his recent gestures.

But before Crowley could step into the crisp light of the morning he'd felt it, that tell-tale prickle along the back of his neck and across his shoulder blades. While the unpleasant feeling was less insistent than the one he'd often receive when he was needed in Hell it was no less demonic in origin, and as such his senses automatically reached out to locate the source. He didn't need to search far to find it - someone was nearby. _No, more than someone, there's two of them,_ he recognised, the two widely different demonic energies almost familiar to him although he couldn't quite put a name to the powers.

The realisation caused a swell of agitation to spring up within him for he hated anything unexpected and this certainly met that criteria. He also felt an almost animal urge to transform, to slither into a more concealed hiding place until the threat had been properly scrutinised. A demon did well to consider all the options before making a move after all, and while in the past Crowley had always found himself listening to that survival instinct this time he chose to forcefully muffle it, somehow sensing how important it would be to gather as much information on the cause of his unease as possible. So instead of slithering away he honed his hearing, intent on learning as much about these damned demons as he realistically could.

As it was Crowley's hearing wasn't the first sense to pick up on the demons but instead he found his eyes focusing in on them the moment they turned the corner. If their dramatically bad fashion sense hadn't caught his attention then the reactions of the humans nearby would've done it. Under any other circumstances it would've been comical to watch the way the commuters lurched out of the demons' vicinity with a hint of horror or open disgust writ plain across their faces. 

But examining the pair closer Crowley couldn't help focusing on the taller of the two demons first, internally wincing as he took in his sharply pointed, dark, oily looking beard and then his hair. His hair made Crowley want to shudder in disgust, such was the appalling state of it. The locks were lank, knotted and the style was well past popularity, _no wonder some of the humans are staring,_ he thought disdainfully. Despite the naturally low standards most demons exhibited the majority would usually pay at least a little attention to the fads of the time when they came above ground, although you wouldn't think it by the ones Crowley had had to deal with most often before that whole Armageddon business. Blending in generally made tempting humans easier if you could actually entice them into a conversation first rather than have them running away screaming in terror in the opposite direction. 

But as was the case with Hastur, clearly this was yet another demon who had let his standards drop with his last trip above ground. Scanning the style and pattern of the taller ones clothes, Crowley got a good indication of when that might've been. _Bloody hell, he looks like he's trudged out a coffin from the 1800's. That outfit wasn't even fashionable at the time, let alone now with added effect of ingrained dirt and moth-holes,_ Crowley couldn't help recognising as he racked his mind for the demons name. He was so distracted that he almost didn't take in the look of the one trailing behind the first, slight and hunched over as he was. But the moment he saw his youthful, sullen face recognition hit Crowley as well as a deep, instinctive revulsion that had him wanting to recoil further into the alleyway.

Valac appeared almost angelic beside the first demon, his young, unblemished visage doing only a cursory job at hiding the rotting core within. He could've gone without notice much more easily among the humans compared to his companion, at least he would've if not for the demons strange choice of punk era clothing. The leather pants he wore were skintight and ripped at the knees while the oversized jacket he wore open revealed a bare, hairless chest underneath with both nipples pierced, a tattoo snaking up between his pectorals. _How anyone could've looked in the mirror and thought yeah, that's a good look I don't know,_ his mind tried to snicker halfheartedly despite the bubbling unease he felt at Valac's presence on Earth. He found it only partly tampered down as he watched them, his eyes squinted as he focused on the demon. He couldn't even blink, wouldn't risk losing sight of him for even that small amount of time.

Staring at the serpent tattoo on Valac's chest, Crowley was once again reminded of why he'd always felt so uneasy around the other demon. It wouldn't do well for a demon like Crowley to forget the former's innate ability to locate and control snakes. The demon had other talents of course, or at least that's what he'd always liked to brag about in Hell but Crowley had never much listened to his gloating bluster. All he cared about was just how powerful the demons control of serpents happened to be, and as of yet it was a question that remained unanswered. 

In all the millennia they'd both been fallen Valac had never attempted to turn his strange power on Crowley, something which he'd been quite thankful for at the time. But even so, that didn't mean that Crowley was willing to risk giving the demon an opportunity to test it out on him now. Watching the demons continue their journey along the street Crowley emerged from the shadows carefully, skulking behind them at an even pace while keeping the pair continuously in sight. Focusing his hearing on the demons across the street Crowley behaved naturally as he had done many times before, recognizance a familiar skill to him after all his years spent spying on anyone or anything that he happened to take an interest in. 

Spitting in the general vicinity of an older woman emerging from a sandwich shop, Valac declared, "Disgusting isn't it, Barbatos? The way they all mull about like this. I miss the good old days where the stench of humanity wasn't quite so _thick,_ " the demon announced haughtily, the mole under his nose wobbling slightly as he curled his lip at the wary pedestrians nearby.

"I haven't been here since 1893," the other demon, Barbatos admitted before scratching several woodlouse free from his dark hair as they walked. "If I'd had my way I would've stayed in Hell another couple hundred years. The sooner we find the grail the better." 

"Notice how Beelzebub isn't here to find it themself," Valac added with obvious disdain embedded in his words. "Reckon they don't want to run into Crowley? It isn't everyday a demon fails in performing an execution. Bet that would be an entertaining conversation to listen in on if they bumped into each other up here."

"It isn't everyday that a demon survives bathing in holy water," Barbatos shot back, irritation clear in his sharp tones. "I thought you were meant to be finding this treasure? Now instead of your endless prattling why don't you hurry up and get on with it already, the quicker you find the grail the sooner we can get back to Hell and finally get Armageddon going."

"It doesn't work like that," Valac scowled at the other demon before explaining. "It'll take some time to locate. You've got the most experience between us of being on Earth, why don't _you_ hurry and find the grail and then _I_ can get back to torturing the new souls waiting for me in Hell."

The two demons continued bickering for some time but rather than pursue them Crowley just watched as the pair slowly crossed the road to head in the direction of Regent Street before eventually being swallowed up by the crowds rushing about around them. He knew that he'd likely gleamed as much knowledge as he could from their terse conversation and as such Crowley's only priority now was to reach Azirapale's as quick as demonically possible to warn him of the turn of events. Time was definitely of the essence and he wasn't going to waste it listening to demons debate age old Hellish gossip and politics.

When he arrived at the shop all thoughts of his futile show of romance were long forgotten, his mind instead filled with this new situation that had been unceremoniously dumped on them from a great height. _Thanks for that God, great joke,_ Crowley couldn't help aiming the derisive thought in the Almighty's direction (wherever that might be these days). 

His thoughts were still dwelling on variants of that line of thinking even after the many hours of repetitive research he'd helped out with at the shop. Crowley only hoped as he climbed the steep stairs to his flat that he could produce some sort of clue for himself and Aziraphale to actually be getting on with. He hadn't worked so hard risking his life and freedom to stop Armageddon just for a measly three months of peace. He certainly wasn't just going to lie down and watch everything he'd become attached to burn away just so Heaven and Hell could finally have their slanging match.

Making sure to lock the door behind him after entering the apartment Crowley promptly began moving towards his safe, only hesitating for a moment as he stood before it. It was only a matter of moments to remove the picture the safe hid behind before swiftly typing in the code and opening it up to reveal the contents within. Taking out what he needed Crowley then moved towards his desk at a more sedate pace, scanning the cover of each letter to assure himself that all were present and accounted for. It had been several decades since he'd bothered looking at them, but now he couldn't be more glad that he'd resisted his primary instinct to throw the missives into the flames upon first reading their contents.

Quickly finding the pertinent letter in question Crowley read it through again with fresh eyes looking for any indication, no matter how small, that could offer him a lead in his current search for the grail. As it was the last time he'd tried to find the artifact the year had been 1340 and his arrangement with Aziraphale had still been in its infancy. They were meeting fairly regularly at that point, or at least what could be considered as regular for two beings who had lived as long as they had. He'd decided it would be best to remain in England for a while to ensure that Aziraphale didn't start getting doubts about continuing on with their deal. After all, it had taken quite a lot of wheedling on Crowley's part before the angel saw the good sense of his plan and agreed to it. That was the reason for his remaining nearby to Aziraphale, or at least, that's what Crowley had told himself at the time and continued to tell himself, albeit with less confidence these days.

Therefore it had made perfect sense at the time for Crowley to outsource his search to someone well regarded in acquiring rare items of interest for those willing to pay a high enough price for the privilege. Dangerous disputes were going on at the time between England and France and he'd preferred not to run the risk of being caught pursuing other things when Hell had been in such regular contact with him. Thinking back, Crowley remembered just how eager Beelzebub had been for him to sew discord among the monarchy of the world. He'd later taken credit for the Hundred Years War of course, although truthfully Crowley had had very little to do with any of that business. Often the humans didn't need his help to act out their baser natures. 

As a result of the conflicts Crowley ultimately paid his contact for information over the course of several years, and despite the many promising leads the man turned up he'd eventually written to inform Crowley that his once favorable progress had degenerated into nothing more than a hopeless cause. He'd received intel that the grail had been in the possession of the Templar's and as such all sign of it had disappeared along with the order over thirty years prior. It was a dead end, and one that to this day Crowley had been unable to search past.

Upon rereading the delicate, yellowing letter Crowley was reminded yet again of the intense feelings of frustration and anger he'd felt upon receiving it in 1348. The emotions only intensified within him as he realised that the damned letter still couldn't yield anything new to him, not even all these hundreds of years later. 

Not long after beginning to search for the grail in earnest Crowley realised something that he'd failed to realise in all the years he'd been on earth. His near acquisition of the relic in Rome had been down to chance rather than skill on his part, for when it came to searching out artifacts imbued with Holy power Crowley's demonic abilities would always naturally fall short just when he needed them most. Over time he'd realised that items touched by God's power had a kind of force-field around them, protecting them against demons and angels alike. Oh he could sense the grail of course - so long as he was within close range of the thing like in Rome, but neither demons or angels could use their powers to teleport themselves to its location or vice versa, hence both sides searching Earth for clues now. 

While he digested these thoughts Crowley's gaze happened upon his answering machine, and as such he couldn't avoid noticing the bright red light that flashed insistently up at him. Aziraphale's words from earlier that day came back to him unbidden, _'I did try ringing you, Crowley. It isn't my fault that you don't check your answer machine regularly.'_ He hesitated only a moment before leaning back in his plush chair as he quickly hit _play._

_Oh, good morning Crowley, it's me... Aziraphale, that is. I do hope I'm doing this correctly, you know I hate leaving these types of messages on your little machine. I never quite know if you've gotten them or not. Anyway this will likely turn out to be of little import but I felt it best to inform you regardless that it seems like there's been some form of development with my side. Or former side, I suppose._

_As I said, it's probably something entirely inconsequential. But there's been some sort of power surge from Heaven, whatever it was was strong enough to be felt right here in my shop, in fact it actually rattled several first editions free from their shelves, can you believe it? I wouldn't be surprised if the surge isn't just Gabriel deciding to play his horn again followed by him giving himself a giant clap on the back for his efforts, but I thought it best to inform you of it regardless. Anyway, if it isn't too much of an imposition I had an idea for something we could do one afternoon, but I'll, erm, I'll put that idea to you when you're next at the shop. I'll speak to you again soon, dear fellow, good day._

Looking down at his answering machine Crowley wasn't quite sure what to make from that message. He couldn't help shaking his head slightly as a soft smile bloomed on his lips while he replayed it, the angels voice once again filling the room. _I really need to give Aziraphale a crash course in technology,_ Crowley couldn't help thinking to himself affectionately. _Maybe I will once all this grail business is over, that's if we aren't dead by then of course._ He couldn't help the gentle knot that formed in his stomach at being referred to as _'dear fellow'_ by the angel. He didn't refer to Crowley in affectionate tones often but he always found himself enjoying it like a guilty pleasure when he did. Playing it a third time he focused in on the details of the message, acknowledging to himself what that surge of power likely meant.

Given the turn of events it seemed more likely than not to him that the angels were on the lookout for the grail too, the only real question was how much progress they'd been able to make. Given the conversation he'd overheard Crowley would guess that Heaven had at least a couple of days head start on Hell in locating the relic. He just hoped that Gabriel wasn't among the angels currently roaming Earth. What Crowley wouldn't do to smack that smug, condescending face or better yet douse him with a liberal dose of holy fire. 

Remembering his brief spell in Heaven when he'd masqueraded as Aziraphale, Crowley couldn't help the long hiss that escaped him as the words the puffed up bastard had easily spat out then replayed in his mind. It had been almost impossible at the time to resist the temptation to punish the angel right then and there but he'd just about managed it. Crowley didn't have enough self control to avoid dishing out his special type of vengeance a second time, Old Testament style.

Entwining his fingers underneath his chin Crowley turned his attention to other matters at hand, soon finding himself completely preoccupied in searching his mind for any other potential avenue worth pursuing in their search. Despite all the possible scenario's he eventually had to admit that only one of his ideas had definite potential in providing them with a clue going forward. _I'll have to find Barbatos and Valac, trail them for a bit and see if they've got any leads we can use._ It was a risk of course, and quite a large one at that. A demon could usually sense the presence of another demon if they weren't distracted or disoriented from traveling between realms. He'd gotten lucky on the streets as the pair clearly hadn't been above ground long when they happened to pass the alleyway he'd been lurking in. The same might not be said if he found them again, especially if they were already on guard against a confrontation with the angels.

But it was a risk worth taking wasn't it? Stopping Armageddon was the only hope Crowley had of both remaining by Aziraphale's side and keeping him safe from their waring factions. If they didn't find it and doomsday began Crowley knew what lay in store for them once the war ended. It didn't matter who won in that respect, the punishment would be excruciating and infinite no matter who ended up dishing it out.

Leaning back in his chair heavily Crowley turned his gaze towards his bare window to look out upon the nights sky, his need to watch the stars almost overwhelming him. Oftentimes throughout history the nights sky had been the only thing that grounded him in the here and now. Looking out now into the inky darkness Crowley's lips twisted in displeasure unconsciously at the sight that greeted him there.

"Damn pollution," he muttered irately. 

Crowley couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a clear nights sky in London, the pollution here having been so thick for so long. Regardless of that it didn't stop him automatically seeking out the stars in times of need. He missed being able to see the constellations, many of which had been welded by his own hand so many millennia ago. The darkness that now permeated the night always reminded Crowley of those first few days in Hell where the shadows dominated every region. The only company available then to a newly fallen angel had been the tormented wails of others who had plummeted from Heaven only to be damaged beyond hope of survival in the fall. Naturally it wasn't a reminder Crowley welcomed, especially not in the face of the current turn of events.

Turning from the empty sky that reminded him of those early, agonising days Crowley couldn't help thinking that if that wasn't a bad omen then he didn't know what was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to update again at the same time next week :) Next chapter will catch up with Aziraphale again and what he's up to!
> 
> Bit of mindless trivia about writing the fic -  
> Sometimes I struggle with switching between POV's (this is especially the case in my Game of Thrones fic where I'm juggling 4 of them, so this is easy in comparison!) But so far so good with writing for Aziraphale and Crowley. Naturally there's always one that's harder to write than the other but I *think* I've got a good grasp on both of them at the minute. My plan is to keep alternating between the characters but whether or not I stick to that depends on who needs more screen time for the plot to work just as I want it :) In my other fic the chapters got longer as the story went along and I ended up splitting the POV's into parts 1 and 2 (and occasionally 3) so a little heads up in case that happens here :)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Next one is written, just needs a bit more editing.


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